


Call for Me

by WizardSandwich



Series: Prowl Week [4]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Cyberverse
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fix-It, Gen, Pre-Relationship, Trans Female Character, auditory hallucinations, but also kind of an, cyberverse is already so goddamn weird, kind of, trans jazz
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-22
Updated: 2020-04-22
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:34:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23758447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WizardSandwich/pseuds/WizardSandwich
Summary: Day 4 - SensoryIt's Jazz's voice but she's not really there.
Relationships: Jazz & Prowl, Mirage & Prowl, Prowl/Thunderhowl, Thunderhowl & Prowl
Series: Prowl Week [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1703245
Comments: 5
Kudos: 28
Collections: Prowl Week





	Call for Me

**Author's Note:**

> in which i post even earlier than days post bc i'm So Tired and going to bed

_“Prowl.”_

The medibay is empty, silent and dark, other than the whisper of his name. Familiar sounding, as if it is something Prowl should recognize. Like an old lullaby or the warmth of the Allspark itself, reassuring and comforting.

“Prowl.”

The voice comes again, so much more audible this time. Less of a whisper and more of a yell, though still so silent. He hears it better now, hears her better.

Perhaps, if it were any voice other than this one that he knows so well, he could pass it off as the voices outside. He could pass it off as the sounds of Cybertron creaking under citizens old and new. He could pretend that he doesn’t hear it.

But he cannot. Jazz’s voice is something he has long missed, but something he could identify even a million orbital cycles from now. Just like her crooked grin, the bright blue of her visor, the way she’d held her servo out to him. There’s nothing to mimic the sound that has long been ingrained in Prowl’s processor.

“Prowl.”

The voice echoes again. Prowl opens his mouth to respond, to ask what and why and who and _Jazz_ but—

The medibay door opens. Ratchet steps in, followed by the lumbering frame of Thunderhowl. The larger mech steps lightly, as if he’s afraid of bringing down the wrath of Primus himself or, perhaps, just Ratchet. He was a common visitor. He had learned his lessons.

“Prowl,” Ratchet says, “it’s good to see you stayed awake for more than a joor.”

Prowl hums, nodding, “Yes. It’s nice not being tired all of the time.”

“I would imagine,” Ratchet says dryly. “Now, I would keep you longer but Primus knows you’re getting restless. I spoke with Optimus about your release. We agreed it’d be best for someone to assist you until you’re fully recovered.”

Prowl is grateful for Ratchet’s steamrolling. Prowl has never wanted to see Cybertron more. He wants to see what they have made out of desolation and abandonment. He wants to see his home and cherish it. He’d almost never gotten the chance.

Because Prowl had been _lucky._ He’d been lucky that the Quintessons had rigged him to life support. He’d been lucky that they’d seen value in his tactics and his processor. He’d been lucky that the Autobots had found him in that desolate lab, hooked to machines and slowly being pieced back together.

“When did you decide this?” Prowl asks, more curiosity than argument. He would not claim to be able to come back from death unscathed.

“When we were sure you were going to wake up,” Ratchet says.

That hadn’t been long ago, little over a quartex. Ratchet had admitted to not knowing if he ever would wake up.

Prowl nods, “Alright. Who is going to be my keeper?”

There’s a name on the tip of his glossa, a name he wants to speak but knows isn’t right. Jazz had been missing since before the Ark had left Cybertron. She was another casualty of a vicious war. Proof that even the best of the best could be defeated.

“I will be,” Thunderhowl interjects, though not impolitely. He is simply offering information.

“I see,” Prowl says. “And you’re fine with this?”

Thunderhowl nods. Something unreadable passes his expression. The lines of his face soften. “But, of course. It would be nothing but an honor to assist you.”

Honor and willingness are different things, Prowl almost says but doesn’t. He doesn’t think they are to Thunderhowl.

“Then I would be honored to have your assistance,” Prowl returns. He looks at Ratchet, “I take this to mean I’m being discharged?”

Ratchet nods. “Optimus just signed off on it. It’s up to you if you want a different emergency contact.”

Prowl slips out of the berth slowly, his joints still stiff. Thunderhowl is a welcome relief as he carefully helps Prowl maneuver off of it. He steadies Prowl and keeps him on his pedes. The servo he places against Prowl’s back is a comforting balance.

“Does Optimus have a problem with staying my contact?” he asks.

Ratchet shakes his helm, “No. I just thought there might be someone else you might prefer.”

There are a lot of things Prowl could say, but some of them are ruder than others. “I see no issue with keeping Optimus as my contact,” Prowl says.

Ratchet says, “I’ll inform Optimus of that decision. Now go. Bots have missed you.”

Prowl nods, taking a step forward and almost tripping over his own pedes. Thunderhowl places his servos on Prowl’s shoulders to keep him from stumbling.

Thunderhowl holds out his arm for Prowl to grab. Prowl accepts the assistance with a small, “Thank you,” and wraps his servos around his arm.

“It’s no trouble, Sir Prowl,” Thunderhowl says.

Prowl can hear Ratchet snort as Thunderhowl escorts Prowl out of the medibay.

“Many of your comrades frequent Maccadam’s, as I have previously told. Would you like to journey there?” Thunderhowl asks.

“Yes, that would be nice.” Prowl adjusts his grip on Thunderhowl’s arm to make it easier to hold onto the mech. “Maccadam is still around?”

Thunderhowl shakes his helm, “No longer, I am afraid. I am told he valiantly gave his life in the battle against the Quintessons.”

“You were still trapped then, right?” Prowl asks.

“Indeed. Though, I cannot say I’m bitter to have missed the battle,” Thunderhowl confesses.

“I can’t either,” Prowl agrees, spark warming a bit under the weight of Thunderhowl’s trust in him. It was more than likely the mech wouldn’t have admitted such a thing if he didn’t see he and Prowl as friends.

They arrive at Maccadam’s shortly. The bar looks worn, but not rundown. It is a testament to care and the wear of time.

“Who runs it now?” Prowl asks.

Thunderhowl says, “The brilliant Perceptor.”

Prowl smiles at the moniker for Perceptor, endeared. Thunderhowl, in his language and mannerisms, truly did live up to his status as a knight.

The door opens as they step forward and Prowl, in ill-fitting eagerness, lets go of Thunderhowl’s arm to stumble through the entrance. He’d missed his fellow Autobots. Very few of them had had time to visit him with the rebuilding of Cybertron.

Bots don’t look up from their drinks, but someone had clearly had their optics on the door, because there is a call of “Prowl!”

Prowl tries to steady himself. He ends up clambering to grab Thunderhowl again before he collapses. Thunderhowl’s steadying grip returns, holding up most of Prowl’s weight.

When he looks up again, there are optics on him. It makes Prowl uncomfortable. He has never liked attention, except for in the heat of battle. He knew what to do then.

“Hello,” Prowl says to the room at large. His voice comes out stilted and awkward.

Mirage sits at a table across the room. He stands, bringing the attention to himself, “Prowl. It’s good to see you.”

“It’s good to be seen,” Prowl says wryly.

Mirage chuckles and gestures to the empty seat next to him, “Come join Trailbreaker and I for a drink.”

Prowl looks up at Thunderhowl, “If that’s okay with you?”

Thunderhowl nods, “Of course.”

He escorts Prowl across the room and helps Prowl to slide into the booth. Thunderhowl is careful not to jostle him. Likely, Ratchet had given him some warning about Prowl’s recovery. Thunderhowl took that kind of thing seriously, according to Optimus.

“Thank you,” Prowl says again.

“No need to thank me,” Thunderhowl says this time. “It is an honor to assist you.”

“Your own knight in shining armor?” Mirage asks, as Thunderhowl seats himself next to Prowl.

“Hardly,” Prowl responds. “Ratchet and Optimus decided that I would need a keeper if they discharged me. And, considering the amount of time I’ve almost tripped, they weren’t wrong in their decision. Thunderhowl was kind enough to offer his assistance.”

Mirage smiles at that, something all too knowing in his expression, “I would imagine. You looked like you’d topple over if you let... Thunderhowl, was it?” Thunderhowl nods. “If you let Thunderhowl go.”

“I likely would have,” Prowl admits.

They fall into conversation then, Mirage catching Prowl up on the mundane and the odd. Trailbreaker, often in Maccadam’s, steps up to fill Prowl in on the gossip he’s heard, though he admits Toaster is likely to know more. It feels like old times, almost, but Prowl knows what’s missing.

Especially when he hears that voice again, all too damning.

 _“Prowl,”_ Jazz whispers to him, there but not really there.

“Prowl,” she repeats, as if calling to him. Her voice wraps around his spark and tugs him somewhere he isn’t sure he’ll come back from. He’d never truly properly mourned her. There had never been time.

Prowl looks around Maccadam’s almost frantically, as though he will find the source here where he knows there is none. There hadn’t been one in the medibay, why would there be one here?

“Prowl,” Mirage says, tapping the back of Prowl’s servo with a digit. He looks worried when Prowl’s gaze rests on him. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” Prowl says. “I just thought I’d heard someone calling my name.”

It is not a lie, but it is not a whole truth. He does not say whose voice it might be. He does not tell Mirage of Jazz. He would think Prowl was hallucinating. Maybe Prowl is. It would make sense.

“Well, maybe you should get your audials checked,” Mirage says, almost joking, though the worry doesn’t leave his expression.

“I’ll be sure to mention it at my follow up appointment with Ratchet,” Prowl says. “Now, is there anything else I’ve missed?”


End file.
